Chapter 3: War of Attrition

After getting to work, I’d already been subjected to half a day of HR’s mind games. I was getting seriously irritated.

I spun my chair around to face the window, trying to find a speck of blue sky above the cityscape, but all I saw were concrete and clouds. The office felt smaller than usual, the air heavy with tension.

"Megan, I don’t think we need to beat around the bush. Just say what you want."

"It’s nothing. I just think you’re not capable enough for your current job."

"I don’t want to waste time analyzing where I’m supposedly incompetent. Just tell me—what exactly do you want?"

"You need to start writing weekly reports, including an action plan for improving your work ability. Also, you’ll need to hand over part of your work."

Sales jobs have low base salaries; most of the income comes from commission. I knew exactly what HR was doing—she was trying to cut my income so I’d give up and resign on my own.

I could practically see the wheels turning in her head, thinking she was being clever. The oldest trick in the book: starve ‘em out.

"If the company has a layoff plan and will compensate according to labor law, I’ll accept it."

"There’s no layoff plan, but if you want to resign voluntarily, I have no objection."

I finally understood. After all this psychological warfare, HR just wants to force me out without paying severance.

Dream on.

I set my jaw, staring her down. If she wanted me gone, she’d have to do it by the book.

"Megan, I will not resign voluntarily. If you want me gone, prepare my severance compensation, or I’ll go to arbitration."

With that, I walked out of the conference room. I really couldn’t stand another word from someone who only knows how to play mind games and has zero logic.

I could feel my whole body tense as I left, hands jammed deep in my pockets. Every step back to my desk felt like a small victory—if nothing else, I was still standing.

Back in the office, I found my department manager, Carl Benson.

Carl’s door was half open, as if he’d been expecting me. He gave me that tired, apologetic smile managers reserve for when they’re about to let you down gently.

"Did you know HR wants me out?"

Carl nodded.

He looked everywhere but at me, fiddling with the stack of reports on his desk.

"I just found out too—was only notified this morning. I pushed back, Derek. I told them your numbers speak for themselves, but HR wouldn’t budge."

"I want to know the real reason."

I crossed my arms, bracing myself for the real gut punch. Carl took a deep breath, as if he’d practiced this in front of a mirror.

"Derek, here’s the deal. The new clients you brought in now account for 50% of the company’s business. They think the contracts are signed and only need routine maintenance, so they don’t want to pay you commission anymore. But since your contract guarantees commission, they can’t just cut it, so their only option is to force you out."

Now I get it. We’re talking about hundreds of thousands of dollars in commission a year.

The truth was finally out, and it tasted bitter. All those late nights, cold calls, and client dinners—reduced to a line item they wanted to erase.

After I developed these clients, they want to get rid of me.

There’s nothing more to say. I’ll fight to the end. As long as the orders keep coming in, I’ll get the commission I deserve.

If they really want me gone, they’ll have to pay severance.

But I underestimated how dirty HR could play. Soon, more tricks followed.